Broken Bottles
by sjsjtd2007
Summary: Francois decides to drag Oliver to a night out with friends


A bundle of clothing hit Oliver on the shoulder and fell next to him on the couch. "Hey," he whined and looked up from his knitting. "What was that for?"

"Get dressed," Francois ordered. He walked back the hall holding his towel up. The Frenchman was damp from the shower. And his long hair straggled down.

Oliver tilted his head, but then looked at the clothes. He'd been given a pair of jeans and a dark grey button p with a light blue vertical stripe down the left side. "Are these jeans from… the 1990's?"

"Oui," Francois called back. That's the only generation you wore them in besides the 80's."

There a good reason as to why he didn't get clothes out from the 80's.

He noticed an old pair of converse next to the tea table. "I haven't seen these in years…" He stood up and decided to go to his room to redress.

He passed Matt's room and heard him talking on the phone.

"Yeah, it was a messed up dream. Felt real…yeah. Hey, I'll text you when we leave. Mm hm. You too." Oliver didn't intend to eavesdrop, but he couldn't help but he curious as to who was on the other line.

Matt walked out as Oliver started passing. "Oh, hey." He nodded and walked into the kitchen.

Oliver went into his room and put on the clothes Francois had given him. He noticed that he must have lost weight since the 90's because the waist was too wide. He found a dark belt and strapped it on, then rolled the sleeves on his shirt up.

Francois walked in wearing faded jeans and a dark purple button up that he'd tucked in. He looked Oliver up and down, and then held out his hand. "Give me the knife."

The Brit looked left and right, then back to Francois. "Knife? What knife?"

"Don't play stupid," he said aggressively.

"I don't have a knife!" Oliver stepped back.

"I'll just search you then," he threatened.

Oliver huffed. "In your dreams.." He spun around and slammed into something hard. He looked up and saw Matt staring down at him with an eyebrow raised.

"C'mon, Ollie. Don't be difficult."

Oliver was just that. Difficult. He quickly turned to try and duck away from Matt, but he wrapped his arms under Oliver's and held him tightly to his chest.

"If you kick or bite me, I'll give it right back," Matt said and nodded to Francois. "Go ahead."

The Frenchman started with Oliver's shirt, shaking it and running his hands down his body to his hips. He patted up each leg, making Oliver squirm. He ran his hand up his right thigh, then his left. When he did that, Oliver yelped.

"Stop that!"

Francois ignored him and shoved his hands into his front pockets, earning a second yelp. He ignored it and felt the back pockets, then stopped.

He pulled two things from his pockets: A wallet and a switchblade.

"What was that about not having a knife?"

Oliver gave him a weak smile and said, "To be fair, it's not actually a knife."

Matt chuckled and let Oliver go. The Brit brushed his shirt and sighed. "No need to be so brutish, Mattie."

The Canadian rolled his eyes.

Francois frowned when he opened Oliver's wallet. He pulled a packet out that looked like a white powder. He looked at Oliver and raised a brow.

"That isn't the drug you THINK it is," Oliver said quickly, then took his wallet back, minus the drug.

"That is it…?" Matt looked at him uneasily.

"Francois examined the powder, then noticed larger chunks that hadn't been crushed. "They're pills," he said.

"Rohypnol," Oliver said simply.

"The date rape drug," Matt said, deadpan. Matt and Francois both knew he didn't use the drug for sexual purposes. He shook his head and quickly said, "Can we go?"

Oliver turned to him and tilted his head. "Where ARE we going, exactly?" It baffled him to be wearing such casual clothing to be going out.

Matt looked at Francois. "You didn't tell him?"

"He'll figure it out." Before Oliver could protest, Francois gently pushed him out of the door.

"But-" Oliver stumbled a bit and complied. He couldn't help but think of a dog getting excited to go for a car ride only to come back with his balls cut off. They got into Matt's truck and Oliver sat in the back, wondering where on earth they were taking him. He thought about what day it was and considered that it was an occasion of some sort. He was good at keeping up with birthdays, anniversaries, and special events.

Nothing came to mind and besides; why would they make him wear jeans to a special event?

H then thought of holidays. Maybe they were off to a barbeque. He shook his head. Unless it as a random party, there were no casual events planned this week. He was sure of it. He'd even gotten a Facebook against his better judgment to keep up with those events.

He looked outside his window and watched the town pass by. It was 8:30 on a Friday night. Where would they go?

His face fell as he felt Matt's truck slowing. "No," he said directly.

Francois glanced back. "Come one, you c-"

"No," Oliver said, frowning. "You know I won't go in there. You know I CAN'T." He looked out his window again, nervous.

"It'll be fine," matt said. "I mean, when was the last time we went out for drinks?"

"Do you really want to recall that," he huffed.

"Well, I'm gonna keep things under control tonight," Matt parked and turned the truck off. "Come on, Ollie. Flavio really wanted us to come."

Oliver perked up a bit. "Flavio?"

Matt opened his door. "Yep. " He opened Oliver's door. "Please come with us?"

Oliver made a face. "Do I have to drink?"

"How about you have ONE drink," Matt suggested. "Then you can stop and enjoy the night."

He considered that. One wouldn't kill him, or anyone else for that matter. "You promise?"

"Cross my heart," Matt said and made an X over his chest. He smiled and stepped aside, letting Oliver out.

He hopped out of Matt's truck and almost fell. "Is that thing TALLER," he complained.

Matt laughed. "Come on, dork."

Allen waved the three over to his table. There were three others there. Andres and Flavio were to Allen's left and on the other side there was a blonde boy with glasses wearing a red hoodie.

The boy turned around and smiled at them, but directed his attention to Matt.

Oliver glanced at Francois. "Is that…?"

Francois nodded once. Matt smiled softly and walked over to sit next to Matthew, his counterpart. Before Oliver got his seat, Flavio rounded the table and attacked him with a hug.

"Ollie! Baby!" He kissed his cheeks. "How are you?"

Oliver giggled. "Quite fine, poppet. "

Francois and Andres shook hands and sat across from each other, already engaged in conversation.

Allen looked like he was teasing the Canadians now, and Flavio rounded back beside him. He slapped the American on the back of the head and snapped, "Leave the poor boys alone."

Matt gave Flavio a thankful look, and the Italian blew him a kiss.

Oliver sat between Matt and Francois. He frowned when Flavio passed the new comers drinks.

"Where's your brother," Allen asked casually and took a drink.

Flavio rolled his eyes. "Oh, who knows these days?" He sighed. "He said he might come over here later. I doubt it, though."

Andres checked his phone. "Gilen should be here soon," he said, frowning.

Francois pulled his own phone out. "I'll call him." He dialed the number and waited a moment. Andres watched, amused, as Gilen picked up and Francois snapped, "Get your white ass down here. I'm not asking again and do not make me fetch you." He snapped the phone shut and smiled.

Andres was laughing. "Think he'll come over?"

"He'll come if he knows what's best for him."

Oliver spared a small chuckle, knowing how the three troublemakers were with each other. Rowdy, loud, and dangerous they were.

He had scars to prove that.

He looked at his drink and took the first sip. It was smooth, but he hadn't had alcohol in so long that it made him shiver and cough.

One drink, he reminded himself.

Two drinks later, Oliver was cursing himself. He grumbled quietly and stared at the table.

Where was Matt? Mister "Only one drink" was across the room having a quiet conversation with the smaller Canadian.

Oliver had to admit, he liked the Canadian. He was sweet, nice, and he smiled a lot. The best part was that he seemed to make Matt smile. That made Oliver happy when he wasn't drunk.

He groaned. He hated alcohol and how it made him feel.

Gilen had joined the other two and they were drinking away. Oliver wondered which of them would last the longest in a drinking contest. He guessed that Gilen would win. He WAS German, after all.

Flavio was relentless with giving him drinks. He'd refused twice now, but Flavio begged him until he gave in. He was looking at the end of the glass and realized that if he drank much more he'd end up getting hammered.

He frowned, looking around.

Flavio's phone rang and he picked it up. "Ciao?" There was loud Italian shouting from the other end of the line. Flavio went full Italian and started yelling right back.

He guessed that Luciano was getting sick of his endless drunk texts and begging. Allen watched as Flavio furiously argued with his brother, then tapped his shoulder.

The Italian blinked and handed Allen the phone. He said "Hey, luci. It's Al… Uh huh. " He smiled. "Hey, why don't you get your sweet ass down here and have some fun."

"Swear jar," Oliver growled.

Allen glanced at Oliver, then went back to the phone. "Yep. I'll see you then." He shut the phone off and smiled. "And that is how it's done."

Flavio smiled. "Way to go, lover boy."

Allen shot him a look and then smiled. "Yeah, yeah."

"I think he's nice," Matthew said, looking over at the group.

"Which one," Matt chuckled and took a drink.

Matthew smiled. "Well, all of them, even Allen and Francois. I was talking about Oliver, though."

Matt looked back at the table. "He's a piece of work."

"Who isn't?" Matthew stirred his drink. "You've met my brother, and you've met Arthur."

"I wonder which is deadlier; Oliver's cupcakes or Arthur's cooking in general?"

Matthew laughed softly. "I'm going to have to say Arthur's cooking. At least with Oliver there's a chance that it won't kill you."

"Good point." Matt smiled and looked back at the smaller Canadian. It was funny how they'd met so long ago and this was the first time they really went out for drinks.

When they started talking, he immediately felt like he could tell Matthew anything and everything. They talked about hockey passionately; they shared their love for Canadian things like nature and pancakes. Matt told him things that he never told others. He valued their friendship dearly, but he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of… something more. He blushed and looked away.

"You okay," Matthew asked, holding the glass to his lips.

He bit his lip and nodded. "Yeah, totally." He forced a smile.

Matt blinked. "Sure?"

"I…" He looked down. "I kind of-"

He was cut off by a loud bang and a shout. He jumped and whirled around to see a table over turned and Oliver being restrained by Francois.

"Shit," Matt stood up and turned to Matthew. "Stay here. I think he got his hands on a weapon."

He war right. Allen's forehead was bleeding and there was a broken bottle in Oliver's grasp.

"How much did he drink," he snapped at Francois, who was struggling to hold Oliver in place. They were both wasted. "Why the fuck are you the one holding him," he rolled his eyes and grabbed Oliver's wrist.

"LET ME GO," Oliver shouted. Matt didn't know whom he shouted that to.

He pried the glass out of the Brit's hand and heard the bartender cursing them to get Oliver out of his bar.

"I'll take him," Francois said and started dragging Oliver to the door.

"You sure," Matt said, raising a brow.

"He's far worse than I am," he admitted and clumsily threw him over his shoulder. "Let's go."

"NO! NO NO NO!" Oliver kicked and shouted. The door shut and they stood in silence.

Flavio and Andres were quietly fixing the table and Allen had disappeared into the bathroom. Gilen opted to clean the glass and Matthew appeared next to Matt.

"We should check on your brother," he suggested.

Matt nodded and followed the other Canadian to the men's room where Allen was washing his face.

"You okay," Matt asked.

Allen looked up and a trail of watery blood went down his face. He smiled. "Yeah, man. Holy shit, did you see that?" He grabbed a paper towel and held it to his head.

"Not really," he admitted. "You sure? You're bleeding a lot."

"It's a small cut," he said. "You know how little cuts bleed like hell," he shook his head. "Anyhow, Oliver totally flipped when I kinda pissed him off by swearing. He smashed the fucking bottle on my head. Like, holy shit!"

Matt growled. "YOU pissed him off?! Asshole!"

Allen was looking in the mirror and wiping his face with another paper towel. "I didn't think he'd flip a table."

"You don't think, period."

"Do you think he'll be okay with Francois," Matthew asked.

"I'll call a cab for them in a minute. Gonna wait just in case he's still calming him down."

"NO FAIR," Oliver struggled and shouted on the bench that Francois set him in. "WHY IS EVERYONE A GIANYT COMPARED TO ME?"

"Oliver, please stop," Francois sighed, drained.

"NO!"

Francois let go of his shoulders and sat back on the sidewalk. He was staring down and he didn't bother to try anymore.

"What are you doing," Oliver demanded.

"Giving up."

"On what?"

"On you," he said coldly.

Oliver flinched. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Francois growled. "You broke a fucking bottle over Allen's head. You kicked me. You won't shut up."

"Why you- I mean I…" Realization hit him. "I…" His face fell. "I'm terrible." Oliver faltered and tears came to the corners of his eyes. "I hurt Allen… I hurt y-you.." He looked down and started crying.

Francois stood up and took a seat next to him on the bench. He wasn't angry, but making him seem angry snapped Oliver out of it.

After a while of sobbing into his sleeve, Francois put and arm around his shoulders in a motion of "forgiveness". Oliver leaned against him and shook, still crying.

"Oliver," he sighed, pulling a cigarette out. "I'm not mad. Neither is Allen."

"A..are you sure?"

He nodded. "I'll kick Flavio's…" He couldn't thing of a good replacement for ass that didn't sound juvenile. ""I'll give him a nice long talk for pushing drinks on you like that. He knows better. As for you, you're too nice to decline."

"Love, I just have no willpower." He sniffled and sat up. "You took my handkerchief."

"Sorry," he said. "I couldn't risk you drugging anyone." He pulled his own sleeve up and started wiping his eyes at least.

"Why are you so nice to me?" Oliver stared up at him with a fixed expression.

Francois just shrugged. "We've been friends for a long time. I suppose…" He shrugged. "I don't know for sure."

He finished wiping his eyes and sat back on the bench. Oliver leaned against him and closed his eyes.

The song "Canadian Please" started playing from Francois's pocket. He growled and snatched the phone to answer it. "How do I fix this stupid ringtone," he snapped at the Canadian." He was rewarded with laughter.

"How are things?"

"Better."

"Well, I'm going to call you guys a cab. Where are you?"

Francois looked behind them and read a sign. "I'm outside the hardware store. Mecha's?"

"Alright," Matt said. "Sit tight. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

In the background, Allen shouted, "Tell Ollie he packs one hell of a punch!"

"Alright. Bye." Francois shut the phone down and leaned back again.

Oliver was fiddling with the fabric of Francois's shirt.

"What are you doing," he asked wearily.

Oliver dropped the cloth and brought his hands to himself. "Sorry." He looked up at Francois. "You were right."

"About what?"

"They aren't upset with me."

Francois nodded and leaned forward, kissing Oliver's forehead.

The Brit turned a bright shade of red. "U-uh…" He swallowed. "What was that for," his voice was small and squeaky.

Francois shrugged. "I don't know."

He blinked and stared at the Frenchman's face, his eyes tracing the shape of his jaw, the colour of his eyes, and the way his lips pressed together. He noticed little details that made his face unique.

He continued blushing when he noticed they'd been staring at each other. When he went to say something to break the silence, Francois leaned forward and pressed his lips on his own.

Oliver froze and he felt an explosion of electricity in his belly. He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes.

The other man tasted like alcohol and cigarettes.

For the first time he was willing to admit that that wasn't a bad taste.

Francois pressed a hand at the side of Oliver's face and wrapped his arm tighter around Oliver's shoulders. The Englishman tentatively place his palms on his partner's chest, feeling his heart beat through his ribs.

Francois backed away for air and pressed their foreheads together. "I'm sorry."

Oliver blinked and shook his head, hoping that that was enough communication. His voice must have been stolen through the Frenchman's lips.

He didn't really need it tonight anyhow.


End file.
